Movie Surfing
by Mali Bear's Buddy
Summary: A very Supernatural twist on incorporating movies into the fandom! Set S5 with special appearances by series favorites! Spoilers for Changing Channels. Many romantic pairings, including: Dean/Jo, Sam/Mystery Women, Bobby/Ellen.
1. Ch 1: Opening Credits

**A/N: **Have you ever been looking for a new fic to read and seen some wacky crossover where the boys of _Supernatural_ are dropped into a movie with no connection to the show? I have. More times than I care to admit. And that's when I came up with this:

40 Movies. 60 Chapters. Dean/Jo. Sam/Mystery Girls. Bobby/Ellen.

Are you ready for a wild ride? If so, you're in the right place! I only ask that you please bear with me while I try to come up with a schedule for regular updates. I'm working multiple big projects right now thanks to an overactive muse...and the story that seems the most popular with my readers will wind up getting most of my attention. Like what you see? Want more? Be sure to let me know!

Many, many thanks to **stephaniew** for her help outlining this idea and working through all of the movies on my list with me...and to **celeste301** for unknowingly inspiring me to take on a crazy adventure of my own. Check these ladies out and show them your love and support!

**Spoilers: **_Changing Channels_

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural_.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter One: Opening Credits<span>

The sun climbs into the sky, embracing the day with the glow of her pink and orange arms as she stretches out across the horizon. The town is quaint and quiet. Any more quiet and there'd be roosters crowing, but this isn't _that_ kind of place. It's more urban that that, even if there are only seven traffic lights in the town and a single motel for 75 miles.

But it's the kind of place the Winchesters don't necessarily mind being stuck in. It's the kind of place they might've called home if they knew what home meant. Dean could just as easily been changing oil in Duke's garage across the street, wearing the cornflower coveralls with the big, red crown logo. Yeah, somebody needed to tell ol' Duke that crowns were for a different kind of royalty, but it wouldn't be Dean.

Nor would it be his brother Sam, who could've been a professor at the local community college. Well, that's of course if the whole lawyer thing hadn't worked out. Who wants to be an attorney anyway? Mountains of debt for a piece of paper to hang on the wall and a a couple of extra letters behind your name. Bleh. Unnecessary. Waste of talent.

Dean isn't a mechanic and Sam isn't a teacher. They're hunters. Elite killing machines staring into the face of the Apocalypse (which, let's face it, _they_ started) and hoping for a better tomorrow today. Ah. Be still my feathered, beating heart.

Yeah. Yeah. I know, alright? This isn't about me. It's about them. Sort of.

Hey, anybody got a candy bar?

What are you waiting for?

Roll 'em!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In a little diner in a nothing town, the Winchester brothers settle into a booth. The place is nearly empty, probably because it's hardly sunrise, with only a few other customers scattered around the room. Dean, unamused at having been dragged from his warm bed at such an indecent hour, glares at his brother over the fading plastic covered menu. Sam, eager to placate him, decides to keep the real reason for their early start under wraps until the food arrives.

The waitress isn't young, but she's not old either. She's around the age their mother would've been if she were still alive. She has a name - one that's easy enough it'd roll right off the tongue - but that doesn't stop Dean from winking at her and calling her sweetheart when he asks for a cup of coffee and the breakfast platter.

"Dude, seriously?" Sam snickers as he folds his menu. "You keep eating like that you're gonna have a heart attack."

"Shut your pie hole and order, wouldya?" Dean replies as he closes his menu and hands it to the waitress.

Shaking his head, Sam shifts his gaze to the end of the table. "The fruit plate and a side of toast, thanks. And coffee. I'll take a cup of coffee."

Waiting until the she leaves, Sam pulls his laptop from his backpack and rests it on the table. As Dean stares out the window, watching the snow swirling on the pavement, he searches for supernatural activity. He finds a few new things, but his focus keeps skipping back to the case he found the night before. The one he woke up thinking about.

It happened about four towns and 300 miles away. In a high-rise office building. The CEO committed suicide, jumping off of the roof two months earlier, and there had been seven other incidents or deaths since involving office equipment - everything from the feeder on a copy machine catching an executive's tie and choking him to death to the secretary's computer shorting out, the sparks burning her hands as the machine burst into flames.

He nods briefly in acknowledgment as the waitress comes back with their coffee and turns back to the laptop. There's something about whatever's going on at that office - something that pulls him in - and he begins to look for information on the victims. If he's going to convince Dean to look into it, he's got to have the facts down...and Dean's got to have his breakfast.

Sam's brow furrows as he watches the waitress slide Dean's breakfast sampler and side of pancakes onto the table in front of him. He offers her a tight smile and accepts his fruit and toast, waiting until she's out of earshot before he says anything.

"Uh, Dean?" he begins cautiously, stabbing at a piece of fruit on his plate.

"Yeah, Sam?" Dean answers cramming a forkful of fluffy, syrup coated goodness into his mouth and practically moaning as it dissolves over his taste buds only have it turn to ash at his brother's next words.

"How would you feel about a little detour?" he says, trying to sound casual as he picks up his toast and takes a bite.

"I shoulda _known_ there'd be a freakin' catch. You wouldn't get me up and take me for a huge breakfast otherwise," Dean says, leaning back against the worn blue pleather of the seat. He toys with the edge of a napkin, his lips curling in disgust as his brother shifts uncomfortably under his stare. "So," he says bitterly, "tell me about this detour, Sam."

"It's a couple hours from here. An office building," he begins, nursing his coffee and turning the computer so that Dean can take a look. He's carefully left the secretary's picture up. A cute redhead, she's right up Dean's alley. She should at least snare his attention initially, even if she didn't keep it.

Dean flips through Sam's notes as he picks at the bacon on the edge of his plate. He looks at the pictures and the articles. "You've got be kidding me. When office equipment attacks? Why us, Sam? Why can't we just call Bobby and get him to pass this one off to another hunter?"

Sam's mouth twists in a sad smile, his brow raising as he works the same puppyish look he's been using on his brother for more than two decades. "Oh, come on, Dean," he pleads, "If this was any other time, we'd be all over this and you know it."

Leaning forward, Dean scrubs his palm along his stubbly shadowed jaw. "Sure, Sam," he growls in answer. "We've got black-eyed sons of bitches and feathered dicks ridin' our asses, we're staring at the Apocalypse, but what the hell? Why not jump all over some stupid haunted building any hunter worth his salt could take care of in an afternoon?"

"I just have a feeling about this one, okay? It's not like it's _that_ far out of the way. We're already heading in the general direction. By the time Bobby could get someone else on it more people might get hurt."

Dean rolls his eyes and shoves another forkful of eggs in his mouth. "How is that my problem?"

Slumping back against the seat, Sam dangles the carrot he knows his brother won't be able to resist. "And hey, someone's gonna have to interview this secretary. Find out what she knows..."

Dean sighs heavily, his appetite suddenly leaving him. He never could resist Sam's requests - especially when he did the puppy face - and the girl _was_ pretty cute.

He pulls a few bills from his wallet and drops them onto the table before slipping into his leather jacket and flipping the collar up as he prepares to step out into the chill of the winter air. "Get a move on, Sammy," he directs with a grin, "Let's go check out your gremlins.


	2. Ch 2: The First Jump

**A/N: **For **stephaniew**, friend, beta and research - or should I say production *waggles eyebrows*? - assistant...

When we started this project, Steph said, "Oooh! You've got to do _The Matrix_!" I'm pretty sure I curled my lip and wrinkled my nose because, thanks to an ex-boyfriend, I hated that movie...but I went with it because it's one of her favorites. Now, while I still wouldn't put it in (or near) my top 10, I can at least say I appreciate it. Thanks for broadening my horizons yet again, Steph. I hope I get this one right for you...

**Spoilers:** _Changing Channels_, _The Matrix_

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural _or _The Matrix_.

Chapter Two: The First Jump

A wall of steel gray clouds blocks out the sun. Gently falling snow lends an uneasy sense of calm to the surrounding scene as Dean slips the Impala into a cleared spot in the nearly empty parking lot, the traffic-packed wintry mix crunching under his baby's tires. It's normal at first glance. Too normal. The kind of normal that makes him queasy and causes him to question why he let Sam talk him into this.

Oh. That's right. A girl. A very pretty, very _engaged_ redhead who openly made a pass at Sam right in front of her fiancée. He chuckles and, looking at himself in the rearview mirror, straightens his necktie. "You ready, Sammy?"

Sam shifts in his seat, reaching for the passenger door handle and avoiding the laughter in Dean's gaze. Mouth tight, he gives a brief nod and they get out of the car. "Yeah, let's get this over with."

Dean runs his tongue across his teeth. With a grin, he claps his brother on the shoulder as they walk toward the glass doors. "What's the matter?" he teases, "Not so hot on these gremlins after all?"

"Dean," Sam snarls through clenched teeth.

"Lighten up," he presses. "Just because he nearly pulled his gun on you..."

"You're such a jerk," Sam answers, shaking his head as they each grab a door handle and walk into the building.

The brothers approach the desk in the lobby, neither seeming to notice the half eaten Snickers bar in the guard's hand or the glint in his eye when he smiles at them. "Can I help you, fellas?"

Dean withdraws his badge from his pocket and flashes it quickly without allowing further inspection. "I'm Special Agent McGuinn, this is my partner, Special Agent Crosby," he explains. "We're here about the occurrences at Strickert Technologies."

The guard takes a bite of his candy bar and gestures towards a bank of elevators to his right. "Thirteenth floor."

Dean leads the way and presses the up button. Sam is hot on his heels. They board the car and Dean reaches for the button as the doors slide closed behind them. The number 13 flashes green as it's compressed and the car lurches upward.

Sam shivers, his mind beginning to race. He leans back against the wall, his hands resting on the support railing as he thinks about things for a minute. "Uh, Dean?"

Tugging at his sleeve without looking at his companion, Dean answers, "Yeah, Sam?"

"Most buildings don't have a 13th floor. Builders are superstitious. The number of construction deaths triples when the number of floors includes 13. A 13th floor is usually only accessible by the stairs and..."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Dude, you're a walking encyclopedia of weird. You know that? So this building has a 13th floor. Big deal."

"I think it's a trap. If it's not a trap, it's involved somehow," Sam continues. He glances at the marker above the door.

Ten. They're drawing closer. Eleven. He reaches behind him and draws his gun. Twelve. Dean begrudgingly draws his own weapon. Thirteen. The doors slide open.

The sun greets them, shining from an infinitely blue sky. They look around as the cautiously step out of the elevator, gravel crunching beneath their shoes.

Spinning around, Dean turns to see that the wide, double doors of the elevator have disappeared. They've been replaced by a single door. One that's locked from the inside.

"Oh, come on!" he yelps.

Sam gulps as it dawns on him a second too late. "Dean?"

"Not now, Sam," he growls. "We gotta find a way out of here."

"That's just it," Sam answers. "Strickert is an anagram."

"A what?" Dean answers pausing his search.

"Strickert is an anagram for trickster," he says, slipping his gun back into its position at his back. "I think it's happening again."

Dean licks his lips, his hands pushing his jacket back to rest on his hips. "No," he says in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

"Think about it. The guard downstairs had a candy bar," Sam says with a shrug, his brow furrowing. "It didn't seem important at the time, but..."

"This is not awesome," Dean replies.

Sam looks around. Sees the green flicker of the numbers in the glass of the building across the street. Recognizing the pattern from one of his favorite movies, he can't hold back a grin. "We're in _The Matrix._"

Dean scoffs. "Come on, Sam. You can't be serious."

Sam tugs at the black leather coat that hangs from his body. _Morpheus_. He's Morpheus. He thinks about the scene. Thinks about how things are supposed to play out. Wonders how Dean will handle it. "We have to let it all go, Dean. Fear. Doubt. Disbelief."

Dean's jaw hangs open as he watches his brother turn and look towards the edge. He gulps when Sam begins to run.

"Free. Your. Mind." he calls out as he pushes away from the rooftop.

Sam soars through the air, the leather of the long duster-style coat flapping around his legs. He feels free. For the first time, the threat of the Apocalypse is forgotten. He's the gawky, too tall teenager who got his big brother to sport him the cash for a Saturday movie while Dean himself was off making out with some large breasted coed whose name he can no longer remember.

His boots hit the pavement, shattering the concrete beneath him. Almost in a squat, he thrusts upwards to his full height, his mouth falling open. "Whoa!" he utters.

Looking across the gap, he yells out, "What're you waiting for, Dean?"

"Uh, listen, Sammy," Dean fumbles. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea."

Sam chuckles. "Worried you won't be able to make the first jump?"

Dean walks to the edge and looks down. The drop down to the street seems endless. The building stretches toward the asphalt like a towering redwood. He puts his hands on his hips and lets out a low whistle. Shaking his head, he sucks in a deep breath. "You're sure about this?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Now would you just come on?" Sam grows impatient. He knows what's about to happen. Knows that this may be their chance to jump from this movie to the next. He keeps it hidden, swallowing the secret he knows might keep Dean from taking the leap.

Dean gulps. Looking down, he mumbles, "Okie dokie..." He snorts. "Okie dokie? Since when do I say okie dokie?"

"Just do it!" Sam yells across the gap.

Walking back toward the building, Dean curses under his breath. _What had Sam said? Free your mind. What the hell did that mean?_ "Free your mind. Free your mind," he repeats, rolling his shoulders. Taking off running, he leaps - legs spread, arms flailing - off of the edge.

Like a stone, he plummets. His body careens downward, his scream filling the air as he struggles to remember to breathe. The pavement drawing closer and closer, he yelps, "Sonuvabitch!"


End file.
